


To The Left, Or To The Right

by lookupkate



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bad Dirty Talk, Jealous John, Jealous Sherlock, Jealousy, M/M, Porn, Public Sex, Smut, giant cock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-17 14:35:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2313041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookupkate/pseuds/lookupkate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would happen if Sherlock took John to the tailor and Sherlock got jealous? What if it was the other way around? First half has jealous Sherlock, second jealous John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To The Left, Or To The Right

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yarnjunkie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yarnjunkie/gifts).



"I need Mr Watson to take his trousers off, Mr Holmes. I can't get the correct measurements with him dressed." the tailor pleaded. 

'Of course he'd plead', Sherlock thought, 'how many times have I been left pleading for John to remove his denims?'. He bit his bottom lip and gave the poor man his best 'I know how to get away with murder' look and noded slightly. 

John, who'd been watching the whole interaction with the glee of a man seeing his pumpkin win first prize, dropped trou right there in the entry to the store. He didn't know they would have to go into a back room as he'd never been to a tailor before and Christ if the building wasn't small enough to be its very own back room and now here were people walking in and he was in his pants. 

Sherlock took him by the upper arm, staring daggers at an old couple just there to pick up some ties, and pulled him behind a partition. 

"He didn't mean for you to take your trousers off in the lobby!" Sherlock hissed, ducking back out once more to put a little more poison in his wake. 

"Well, I realise that now!" John returned, not needing to be told how stupid his actions had been. 

"I don't like this. I don't like anything about this." Sherlock mumbled angrily. 

"It was your bloody idea." John replied, pulling his trousers back up to his thighs before letting them fall again. 

"Yes. Yes." Sherlock said absently as he watched the couple pay and leave. 

"Alright, now let's see." the tailor said as he returned. "Oh. Those won't do." he remarked, gesturing towards John's striped boxers. 

John looked down and then up at Sherlock, who's eyes had gone a bit murderous, and back to the tailor. 

"Should I just, then, um..." John asked, to whom he wasn't sure, as he played with the elastic band of the pants. 

"Don't." Sherlock said.

"Mr Holmes, please, you know my methods. Perhaps you would feel more comfortable waiting outside." the tailor interjected. 

Sherlock folded his arms and leaned against the wall with a snarl. John took a deep breath and removed his pants. He was trying to stay as flaccid as possible, but when Sherlock Holmes was looking at someone with such viciousness it was really a trial. He held a hand over his penis and cleared his throat a few times before letting it fall away. 

"Do you dress to the left, or to the right?" the tailor asked with a straight face. 

"I usually, well, that is, often I just, erm-" John began nervously, flush reaching up his neck. 

"To the left." Sherlock said shortly. 

The tailor nodded and took out his measuring tape. It was ridiculous feeling this exposed, John thought, he'd been naked around plenty of men in the army. Would have been strange then, too, if Sherlock had been watching. He supposed it was fine to be uncomfortable now. He stood at attention for a while longer and the man, who'd been working quietly at his feet, stood and excused himself. 

"Sherlock, you really don't have to-" John began. 

His words were cut short when Sherlock flipped him around quickly and pressed up against his back. He could feel the taller man's erection against his lower back and had to stifle a moan as long violinist's fingers reached down to manipulate his bollocks. 

"He just wanted you naked." Sherlock hissed. "That's the problem with everyone. They just want you naked. They see how you walk and know that your length and girth must be above average and they're just desperate to see it. It's a wonder you don't get propositioned everywhere we go. You walk into a room and the first thing on everyone's mind is your enormous cock. It's crude. Humans are crude."

John was trying to breathe, he really was, but it seemed fairly out of the question at that point. Sherlock was rutting against his lower back, rucking up his jumper, and giving him what was honestly the best bloody hand job he'd ever had, what with his bollocks being moved this way and that and the head of his prick being rubbed to near over-sensitivity. His boyfriend was going on and on about his giant cock, which was nice on its own. It was all leading to what he knew was going to be a huge load dripping down the wall. 

"They have a pool going at the Met, you know. Some idiot noticed that you become slightly aroused when we have a good chase and people are betting on the size of your penis. It's disgusting! They have no right! I've half a mind to win the money. That would teach them. We'd have to figure out a way to prove your quite impressive length without disrobing you, of course, but that shouldn't be too hard. Maybe I could spill something on you and they could see the outline of it. Even then it's impressive. Christ, even flaccid you're bigger than most men. I remember the first time I saw it I thought 'how will I fit that my mouth?'. Quite a shock, really, even though I'd deduced it right away." Sherlock was mumbling. 

His voice was getting lower and more ragged as he started thrusting his hips erratically and grunting. 

"Don't come, John, don't come yet. I'm going to come in my pants while rubbing against your back and then suck at the head of your prick until you release into my mouth. We can avoid any cleaning costs due to your ejaculate causing discoloration of the wallpaper that way." Sherlock said in his normal no nonsense tone. "I'm so aroused by my own possessiveness and the warmth of your skin that I'm going to come right now just from basic friction. Oh, oh, I'm coming." 

And he thrust twice more before slumping to his knees and pulling John's hips so he swiveled. He sucked the head of John's prick into his mouth with a satisfactory hum and John let go, pulsing into his mouth and resting against the wall. 

The tailor walked in to find Sherlock sucking softly at the head of John's massive cock and John sighing happily. John simply waved him away and closed his eyes, promising himself to give the man an exorbitant tip out of their joint bank account. 

\-----

"I need Mr Holmes to remove his trousers and pants, Mr Watson. It's obvious you've never been to a tailor before, so let me assure you my methods aren't out of the ordinary," the tailor said in his best 'talking to peasants' voice. 

John could feel the anger swelling inside him. He stood as tall as his frame would allow and attempted to stay calm. 'I've killed men who shit bigger than you', he thought. Sherlock, for all this hemming and hawing, seemed not to notice John's discomfort. He was already walking to the back and undoing his belt. He slipped off his shoes and removed his trousers and pants to John's dismay. 

"Now, Mr Holmes," the tailor said in what John hoped, for his sake, was an imagined flirtatious tone, "as I remember, you dress to the right." 

"What the hell kind of a comment is that?" John interrupted. 

"John, he has to know for the measurements." Sherlock assured. 

"Perhaps it would be better for you to wait outside while Mr Holmes and I finish our business." the tailor said with a fake smile. 

If that prick said 'Mr Holmes and I' again John might just have to hit him. He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall instead. The man nodded with a frown and went about touching Sherlock in places only John was allowed. The way his fingers flitted along Sherlock's inner thighs made John's blood pressure go through the roof. He was biting so hard on the inside of his cheek, in an attempt not to strike the man, that he could taste blood. 

When the man was finally done he nodded at Sherlock and left the room. John didn't miss a beat. 

"Up against the wall." He said in a voice that years ago had made men tremble. 

Sherlock did the right thing and trembled himself a bit as he licked his lips and rested his forearms on the wall next to his head. John ran his hands over Sherlock's plump cheeks and squeezed hard. 

"I don't like the way that posh pipsqueak was looking at you." he said as he spread Sherlock's cheeks before slapping the right one hard. 

Sherlock drew in a quick breath and tried to reassure John. "He was only doing his job." 

"Bullshit. If I could get paid to kneal in front of your gorgeous cock all day I'd be in heaven. Far as I'm concerned," John gave a hard thrust against Sherlock's buttocks with his clothed erection, "he should be paying you." 

Sherlock was panting now as John began rutting up against him, bulge pressing between his cheeks. He had to bite his lip as John reached around and took him in hand. He was already hard as a rock, John's jealous streak always bringing it out in him. He was still, to this day, amazed that the strong soldier chose him over everyone else. 

"He just wanted you naked. You've been here before, and God knows you never put on weight. He just wanted to see your cock again." John said as he stroked Sherlock quickly and chewed on his bicep. "You can't be so naive, Sherlock, you really can't. He's got your name in some book of his somewhere and right next to it he's written 'giant cock'. I bet he bloody highlighted it! I bet that bastard's been waiting for the day that you'd walk back through his door."

"Oh, John." Sherlock whined. 

John ran his thumb over the head of Sherlock's prick and fondled his bollocks roughly with his other hand as he rubbed himself against his crack in a crude imitation of intercourse. Sherlock could barely see at that point so he gave up and closed his eyes. 

"Everyone wants you. Everyone. That's what I have to deal with, I have the prettiest peach and everyone wants a bite. But you're mine, aren't you, Sherlock?" John said against Sherlock's back. 

"Yes, John, yours. Only yours." Sherlock replied, short fingernails scratching at the wall. 

"God, you're so bloody sexy, fuck! You and your massive cock. Bloody hell. Do you want to know what I thought the first time I saw it? Hmm?" John asked as he circled his hips and sucked a bruise onto Sherlock's shoulder blade. 

"Yes, John." 

"I thought 'when can I get my mouth around that?'. I did. Prettiest cock I've ever seen, perfect. Just like you. They have a pool going about us at the Met. I think one day we should just fuck on Lestrade's desk. Take pictures and everything. That'll teach them. Fuck." John was starting to get out of breath. "Fuck. I'm gonna come. I'm gonna come in my pants like a teenager because of you, ya bastard. I'm gonna come and then I'm gonna stick my tongue in your arse and make you spill all over that posh tit's wall. See how he likes that. Oh. Oh. Oh, hell." 

John gave three more thrusts and came hard before sinking to the floor and spreading Sherlock's cheeks. Sherlock took himself in hand and jerked quickly as John licked between his cheeks greedily and stabbed at center, pushing the tip of his tongue into Sherlock's hole. Sherlock cried out and came all over the wall as John had said he would. 

On their way out of the building John handed the tailor a ten pound note and winked at him. 'For the use of your dressing room', he'd said. The man went stone grey. Served him right.


End file.
